Love and Acceptance
by Sou7h
Summary: Exile/Handmaiden. Someone who loves you doesn't demand perfection but finds it in you. Second chapter could be considered as having spoilers, if that was really going to stop you from reading it.
1. Acceptance

**Disclaimer:** I don't own KotoR or anything from it. Just my own interpretation of it.

**Author's Notes:** This is my first and only Exile/Handmaiden fic and I think it's one of my more well-written ones (you're free to agree/dispute me in a review). I've never been a superfan of this pairing, but this oneshot came pretty easily to me. No idea why. Hope you like it anyway!

Does contain a little "oops" moment that's à la Mass Effect and for anyone who's wondering, I haven't forgotten about either of my kotor fic series. Or any of the other things you guys voted for.

* * *

Love and Acceptance

---

Brianna's hands sliced and chopped through the air in strikes that were as quick and deadly as those of a knife. Strike, parry, counter, repeat. The movements were as familiar and monotonous to her as the ticking of the hyperspace drive, but they were enough to preoccupy her for now. Besides, her technique was far from perfect and perfection was what Atris demanded of her. Nothing less would do.

She must meet her mistress' standards, whatever and however long it took. She must prove herself just as capable as any of her sisters. Her sisters, who could master a technique in half as much time with half as much effort. Her sisters, who were better than her in every single way...

As she thought of her kin, her concentration slipped and she made a mistake that might have been fatal on the battlefield. Frustrated with herself, she pushed the thoughts aside and started her sequence from the beginning with renewed vigour.

"Has anyone ever told you you look cute when you purse your lips like that?"

Handmaiden stopped abruptly. The Exile stood at the doorway to the cargo hold, leaning casually on the frame and flashing her a lopsided grin. His posture was deceiving; although he seemed to be slouching, she knew he could sink into a battle stance at a moment's notice.

The female soldier flushed and told herself it was only from exertion. "How long have you been watching?"

"Only for a minute or two." He stepped forward so that light flooded his features: intelligent blue eyes under a mop of messy black hair. A plain enough face to any passing stranger, but distinct enough to engrain itself in Handmaiden's mind. "I've rarely seen you do anything but fight."

"Excellence must be earned," She intoned. Her mistress had quoted it enough times that she knew it off by heart.

"Is that all you did on Telos? Strive for excellence?" He asked with polite curiosity.

"We serve our mistress. Whatever she requires, we provide it for her."

"You don't do anything for fun?"

_Fun?_ "There is always work to be done. Any spare time is spent on training."

"I see." His voice contained a hint of sadness. "Do you always use 'we'?"

She nodded slowly. "My sisters and I. We all pledged ourselves to Atris."

"And yet you look different from them."

Handmaiden blinked in surprise. Outsiders usually didn't notice, subtle as it was. Unless he marked her face as closely as she marked his...but that shouldn't matter. "Yes. I honour the face of my mother..."

As difficult as it was for most outsiders to recognize, the difference between her and her sisters was all too apparent in both skill and appearance. Her sisters barely talked to her. Once, she had even walked into a room full of their laughter that hastily stopped when she entered. When she asked what they had been laughing about, she received a haughty "nothing" that left her wondering if she was the butt of every joke. As if being called "the last of the Handmaidens" wasn't humiliating enough.

She supposed "honour" the face of her mother wasn't exactly correct. Many a time had she cursed the woman, blaming her for what must be all her faults and shortcomings that she had passed on to Handmaiden like the blood that ran through her veins. Maybe that's what had gotten her killed. But if she was so incompetent, why had her father followed the Jedi into battle? The answer to that question had kept her awake many a sleepless night and she was no closer to finding the answer now as she had ever been.

"Are you alright?"

Handmaiden snapped out of her reverie to see the Exile watching her concernedly. "I am fine. Was there something you needed me for?"

"I just wanted to talk."

"Talk." She didn't think she could talk to him for long without giving away something too personal. The strange thing was, she didn't feel like she would be uncomfortable talking to him. Maybe she even wanted to talk to him. The possibility of the latter unsettled her.

"Just a normal conversation," he urged, sensing her uncertainty. He offered her an encouraging smile that sent a thrill to her heart.

"No," she responded so swiftly that she had to correct herself so as not to offend him. "My meaning is that words can be hollow or false. True expression is through battle, not speech."

She noticed, with relief, that his grin only stretched wider. "If that's the way you want to play it."

"Are you ready?" The Exile called from the other end of the cargo hold, where he'd taken up position. He shivered slightly in his underclothes.

Now it was Handmaiden's turn to grin. He'd called to her with the same cocky confidence that she'd beaten down handily when they first sparred together. His movements had been clumsy and slow, but they had both improved significantly since then.

"Ready," she answered, advancing without pause.

He matched her blow for blow without trouble. Neither gained nor gave ground, causing a stalemate. She probed his defences for an exploitable weakness, feeling him doing the same. But each time she thought she'd found a way in, she found it seamless. Impenetrable.

They weaved in and out of complicated patterns that seemed all part of the same motion. Their bare feet moved so lithely and gracefully that they almost seemed to be gliding. An onlooker would have been mesmerized by the duel that was so perfectly, evenly matched it appeared choreographed. They were dancers and the floor was their stage.

It was in that blissful moment that Handmaiden truly saw her partner for the first time. The moment all physical layers peeled back to reveal the Exile's soul underneath.

She saw his passion, so strongly rooted in his nature and his beliefs and so powerful as to drive every stroke of his arm. She saw the weight behind it: a burden that both imbued him with strength and caused him to struggle beneath its load. A burden that was a part of him, much as he may not realize or want to accept it.

And because this sight was so awe-inspiringly beautiful, her concentration once again slipped and she let her guard down.

A second later, she found herself flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm so sorry...I didn't hurt you, did I? I just got caught up in it all and I –"

She laughed breathlessly, feeling the sweat cling to her face. "That's a good thing."

"Here." He extended a hand that Handmaiden took gratefully.

As he pulled her to her feet, she had to grab his arm to regain her balance.

Their faces were mere inches away. Up close, she noticed that his eyes were endless, like staring into the depths of a great ocean. And yet she could still see herself reflected on its sparkling surface.

It seemed like the inevitable was about to happen. Then she cleared her throat and stepped back, shattering the perfect moment. Her gaze fell to the floor.

"I can't," she said in a small voice.

The remark was more to herself than anything, but he answered her anyway. "Why not?"

"I don't know."

"Look at me."

She didn't want to; it was too easy to lose herself in his gaze. Too easy to lose herself to him.

He touched her face with his hand, letting his fingers trail down her cheek to pull up her chin. His touch was light. Gentle. But she was as compelled to respond to it as if compelled by gravity.

He whispered softly, "I could stand here for an eternity and never feel tired because my hand is drawn to the touch of your skin. I'd never feel lonely because you are the answer to my heart's desire. I'd never feel hunger or pain or sadness because standing here, so close to you, is all I could ever want for in this world and I'd never leave you if you only asked me to stay."

At last she met his eyes and saw the truth in them: that she no longer had the strength or the will to deny herself the thing she wished for most in this galaxy. So she clasped her hand around his and held it to her cheek.

Her word was only a whisper, but it was enough. "Stay."

She kissed him lightly at first, then with a passion that matched his own. The Handmaiden sisters always said that Brianna fought with too much passion in her heart. That if she could only remain more detached from the battle, her technique would greatly improve. But her passion allowed her to love and be loved; in this test, she bested all of her sisters.

Everything in her life on Telos had been a test: every training exercise, every mission, every disapproving look from cold eyes. Up until now, she had been struggling to pass – struggling desperately for approval.

But she did not have to do anything but be herself for the Exile's approval. He accepted her for exactly what she was because he loved her. And she was all too glad to return the favour.


	2. Homecoming

**Author's Notes: **I took some poetic license with the whole Telos scene; Handmaiden talks to Atris before Kreia does, but it's just more fun to show Atris going insane. I find her to be arguably the most complicated character in the game.

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own KotOR or any of its characters, places, etc. I just like writing about them.

* * *

The Exile bounded off the Ebon Hawk's ramp before it even touched the ground, turning in mid-air to flash Handmaiden a grin as he landed. His eyes danced with a quiet happiness she'd never seen before. This was it. The beginning of the end.

"Are you ready?" She asked him.

"Ready? I was waiting for this." He laughed.

And he deserved to be happy. After turning whole planets upside-down to find the Jedi Masters, it was time to start making real progress against the Sith, to take the fight to them instead of being on the run. All that hard work would finally come to fruition. The Echani shared his enthusiasm, even though it was like comparing the wake to the wave.

Kreia, however, did not appear pleased. She walked down the steps almost wearily, and it was the first time Handmaiden ever thought of her as old. She had never even seen the Jedi Master smile. Was her face permanently stuck in a scowl?

The path to the ruined Jedi Enclave was familiar to her – except that it wasn't ruined anymore. It had been restored to the former glory she knew it must have once had when the Exile had trained here; the memory was plain on his face.

"It...it is different. It has been some time," Kreia said. She sat on the edge of the grass, looking around with what Handmaiden assumed was nostalgia.

Of course. The Echani had forgotten that Kreia had once lived as well.

"I've never seen this place so quiet," the Exile said, almost to himself. "And I don't just mean the lack of noise – I mean silent in the Force."

Handmaiden wondered if she should say something but couldn't come up with the words. What did she know about being a Jedi, save a few Force lessons in the cargo hold of a freighter? _Kreia should say something_, she thought. But she could not think of anyone less likely to offer words of comfort than Kreia. The only thing the Echani had ever seen her offer him was a long-winded lecture.

The Exile made to go deeper into the Enclave and Handmaiden started to follow without thinking. But he shook his head at her. "I have to do this alone."

She wanted to protest. She was going to protest. But one look into his eyes told her that she would never win.

Reluctantly, she stood and watched him until she couldn't see him anymore. She didn't like the idea of him going somewhere – _anywhere_ – she couldn't follow.

So the Echani did what she always did when she found herself alone and waiting – she trained. But instead of practicing battle movements, she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind like the Exile had taught her to. To feel the Force. To see and hear nothing at all, and yet take in everything at the same time.

While she wanted to learn the ways of the Jedi, it was no easier than learning to fight. If she was the daughter of the great Jedi Master Kae, shouldn't it be easier than this? For once, Handmaiden had expected her lineage to be an advantage instead of a black mark, but it had failed her again.

The Echani warrior opened her eyes and found that Kreia was gone. _Damn that woman_, she thought. But the fact that Kreia had abandoned her did not make her as angry as the fact that Handmaiden hadn't noticed it, through the Force or otherwise. She didn't even know how long the old woman had been gone. It made her want to cry out in frustration; could she not do anything competently?

Maybe she should forget about being a Jedi. She didn't seem any better suited to it than to being a Handmaiden.

_Atris_. She felt a flutter of guilt as she thought of the Master she had betrayed. But she was still loyal to her in a way: the Echani served her purpose by fighting the Sith. And Force teachings hadn't caused her to fall to the dark side at all, not like Atris had made it seem that they would. In fact, she had never been more sure of the path of the light than she was now.

And what if she had to choose between Atris and the Exile? No, she couldn't. Not when she owed them both her life.

Handmaiden was about to go looking for them when Kreia walked into the courtyard alone.

"I killed them," the old woman stated tonelessly.

"What?" But she'd heard what Kreia had said. She just refused to believe it.

"I killed every single one of them," Kreia said slowly. "The Council is no more."

"Why?" Her head swam with the implications. What could they do now?

"Isn't it obvious? I am Sith. I have always been, but you never realized it before now."

"The Exile?" Handmaiden's voice was softer than a whisper, as if saying them any louder would make what she suspected true.

"Yes."

The Echani heard herself inhale sharply, but the sound came to her as if from far away. To not have seen this coming was the greatest failure of her entire life, and it could not possibly have cost her more. It was so hard to believe and yet it could only make sense; all of it had been too good to be true.

Telos was all she had left now. Her home. What a fool she'd been to leave it.

Her despair was quickly engulfed by anger. It rose like a flood within her – as if it could swallow the entire world whole in a single surge. Handmaiden felt betrayed, but Kreia hadn't even been their ally long enough to betray them.

Retribution, that's what she wanted more than anything. But there was another way – a better way.

"I want to kill you," the Echani said quietly. "But I won't. I will bring you to Atris."

"So be it."

Handmaiden was ready – even sorely tempted – to use necessary force, but Kreia followed without the slightest twinge of resistance. She wondered if the old woman knew she would be executed.

She only wished her mistress would let her do it.

* * *

"Mistress."

Though her arrival certainly hadn't been expected, Handmaiden expected Atris' countenance to be as impassive as ever – the perfectly expressionless face of a Jedi that she had tried to emulate for most of her life. Instead, her mistress looked frazzled, as if her mind had been elsewhere. A lock of hair had fallen out of her bun, something Atris would never have allowed. Old age perhaps...or something else?

The Jedi Master closed the door to her chamber hastily, her words just as curt. "What are you doing here?"

Handmaiden had never seen the inside of Atris' chamber, much less been inside herself. But she supposed being invited in was too much to ask for. She hid her disappointment. "I have returned at last. My mission is complete...though not as I had hoped it to be. But it could still be called, dare I say it, successful."

A laugh escaped from her mistress' mouth. "Oh, that. Then tell me, Brianna, last of the Handmaidens, how can you call that a success?"

"I captured a Sith. Kreia is in a holding cell as we speak, awaiting interrogation if you so wish," Handmaiden added proudly.

"Kreia?" Atris breathed. "We shall see...and what of the Exile?"

"He is dead," the Echani said softly.

"Dead? _Dead?_ But how...?"

"Kreia killed him and all the Jedi Masters."

"Then all is lost." Handmaiden watched her mistress' expression darken like a cloud passing over the sun. She wondered which was the greater loss to Atris – the Masters or the Exile? "I must meditate now."

The Jedi historian opened the door to her chamber, but Handmaiden stopped it before it could fully close.

She gasped.

Row upon row upon row of Sith holocrons, their surfaces as red as a laigrek's eye. They hissed in a language she could not comprehend nor had any want to. Though Handmaiden stared up in horror at them, she had an awful feeling that they were somehow looking down at her.

Atris laughed in what the Echani could only interpret as joy, but the sound was not joyful to hear. "Do not look so dumbstruck. This is the last and greatest collection of knowledge of its kind in the entire galaxy – my life's work, you could say. I scoured the edges of this universe for a way to defeat the Sith. To _destroy_ them. So here it all is. Isn't it glorious?"

The Jedi Master raised her arms, threw back her head and closed her eyes. When she finally opened them, all Handmaiden could see was a glint of madness and her delirious smile.

"How long have you been listening to them?"

Atris' voice was quite calm, if desolate. "Don't you see? This is the only way to stop them now. There is no one left but me. I thought I was the last of the Jedi, and now I truly am. All the Jedi Masters are gone. The Exile is gone..."

"My heart weeps for him as well."

"You...you were close to him?"

The Echani swallowed. The Jedi's stare was beginning to become uncomfortable. There were many words to describe her relationship with the Exile, but she settled for one. "Yes."

Atris seemed to understand anyway. "Is that so?" She asked, her voice dangerously quiet. Handmaiden could not read the expression on her mistress' face. Sadness? Anger? Betrayal?

"Get out." Before she could answer, Atris pushed her roughly out the door. "I will call you later if I require."

Handmaiden returned to her chamber, feeling dazed. No day in her life had ever gone worse than she had imagined as this day. Had it been this morning that she had been feeling so optimistic? So hopeful? But that was gone, snuffed out like the flame of the Exile's life being extinguished.

She had never felt as far away from home as she did now.

* * *

The atrium leading to Atris' chamber was an almost exact replica of the Council chamber on Coruscant. Handmaiden supposed it was a symbol of her pride in the ability to make righteous judgements herself. Or maybe it was merely a small comfort to a woman who had lost every true friend she had to a faceless, relentless danger. The Echani didn't feel as if she knew her mistress anymore.

But she would not allow her to fall.

"The last of the Handmaidens is before us."

She wasn't alone in the atrium. All of her sisters stood before her in what Handmaiden recognized as a defensive formation around the walkway to Atris' chamber. She wasn't surprised; she'd expected them to put in an appearance sooner or later.

"It is good that you have returned," another continued. "You have much to answer for."

"What are you saying?" Handmaiden asked, although she had a dreaded feeling she knew.

"You have betrayed your oath. You have betrayed us. You have betrayed Atris. You are no longer one of us."

"I have never been one of you."

She watched a ripple of surprise travel through the group, all of them with the same shocked expression. It would have been funny under different circumstances. They looked the same, sounded the same, fought in tandem – all part of a perfect group mind she had never been able to tap into.

"Not one of us? We treated you as our sister."

"_Half-_sister," she corrected. "And I'm not ashamed to admit it. Not anymore."

It was at that moment that Handmaiden decided she didn't want any kind of revenge or even an apology. To have said the words was enough.

Besides, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

"Listen to me – Atris has been touched by the Sith. It is not too late –"

"Silence. It is a crime to kill blood – but not to kill a betrayer such as you."

"I will not fight you."

"Then you will fall," one of her sisters affirmed. And like every other point in their lives, one of them spoke for them all.

The battle was briefer than Handmaiden or her sisters could have ever suspected. Handmaiden found herself being disillusioned: all her life, she had never been anything close to the best among them. They had been her betters in strength, speed and agility. She had admired them – _idolized_ them even. They were her perfect ideal, always to be strived for but never within reach.

But now she was faster. It took her a fraction of the speed it cost her sisters to execute the same strike. She was stronger. Her sisters struggled beneath the unexpected weight of her ferocious attacks. She was more agile. It was like she wasn't even solid, flowing gracefully around every blow to land one of her own.

She would never be beneath them again.

"I suppose you could be called an Exile as well," Atris said, descending from her chamber once the last enemy had fallen. "Your sisters certainly treated you as one at times. Is that what you found so appealing in him? That he was just like you?"

"Mistress, you commanded –"

"Commanded? Did I command you to...._consort_ with him?" Atris thundered.

"Mistress, I don't understand."

The old woman's eyes narrowed. "Of course you do not. But you will learn."

Fighting Atris was harder than fighting all of her sisters combined. This was her mistress, the guiding hand throughout her life. It wasn't always easy, but Atris had been there for her. Was it right to go against her? To not beg forgiveness? And why?

Because of the Exile.

"Enough."

Handmaiden saw a flash of light, followed by an indescribable pain ripping through her body. Even her own scream was not loud enough to drown the thoughts in her head – the image of her skin melting off her bones from the heat. She fell to her knees. And then it was gone.

"Did you have feelings for him?"

Another wave of pain rocked through her.

"Did you touch him, did you look upon him with love?"

There was nothing but rage and derision in Atris' voice. No mercy.

"There is no love in that one. He is a shell, devoid of emotion..."

She could feel her vision darkening. Was this what death looked like?

"All that he was died at Malachor, and he dies there still, as he should."

Handmaiden thought she saw him, standing at the entrance to the atrium, but she was sure this was just a trick her mind was playing in its final moments. Still, it was a very vivid vision; he was just like she remembered – the humble robes of a Jedi, but with the aura of a king.

And then she blacked out.

* * *

_Handmaiden._

It was a voice. Calling her to her grave, or back to life?

The Exile's face swam into view, looking distraught. She raised a hand to touch his cheek. He certainly felt real enough.

"You came for me. I thought I had lost you."

He cupped her hand in his and smiled. "I decided to play it close."

A joke. Brianna would have been mad if she wasn't so relieved that they were both alive. "Kreia said the Council had ended you. When I heard her say you were dead, I...I failed you. I let my emotion run through me and I acted without thinking. I wanted to punish her. _Hurt _her."

Even as she spoke the words, she remembered the inexorable anger like a bad aftertaste in her mouth. All she felt now was shame at her outburst.

"Is that...what happened to them?"

The bodies of her sisters were strewn on the floor where they fell. She didn't feel any pride or even regret for killing them, just a hollow sort of sadness. They had been deceived by Atris as she had once let herself be deceived.

"No. They tried to kill me and I..." She couldn't find the words, but the Exile understood.

"I am the last of the Handmaidens no longer," she said, feeling as if she was talking to everyone: herself, the Exile – even Atris and her late sisters, though she knew they would never hear. "I am Brianna, disciple of the last of the Jedi. And the one who will stand with you against all enemies who face us."

The Exile mouthed her name quietly to himself. "It is good to finally know your name."

"It is...good to hear it after so long."

"Then it's time to find Kreia and end this."

But she couldn't resist a final look back as she left. Atris' body was not among the carnage, but the doors to her chamber were closed. The Echani shuddered at the memory of what was behind them. She considered asking the Exile what had happened to the old woman, but decided – in the end – that it was better to leave it unanswered.

"Brianna?" He watched her questioningly.

"I'm fine."

There was just Kreia left now – just one final push. The beginning of the end.

And then she would be home.


End file.
